


Your Knight in Shining Armor

by ncfan



Series: Fictober 2018 [5]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: AU off of 'and dry grass singing', Additional Warnings In Author's Note, F/F, Female Character of Color, Femslash, Fictober, Fictober 2018, Gen, POV Female Character, Smart Lasaraleen, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 14:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16286063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncfan/pseuds/ncfan
Summary: Lasaraleen was expecting someone to come in through the window, though she'd not been expecting Aravis. [Written for Fictober 2018]





	Your Knight in Shining Armor

**Author's Note:**

> [ **CN/TW** : ethnocentrism; brief callousness towards the lives of servants; brief mention of slavery; references to child abuse]
> 
> Written for the prompt, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Lasaraleen murmured, and yet she found herself pouring a glass of ayran for herself and the slim shape that had appeared out of the shadows of her bedchamber (climbed in through an open window, how _very_ like her friend) anyways. She took a sip out of her own glass and winced a little. Too much salt, too little mint. She would have to go over her preferences with the kitchen maid again…

No. No matter what happened tonight, it wasn’t at all likely she’d have the time. Such is life.

That slim shape hesitated, as if this was very much not the reaction they had been expecting. Such, also, was life, and Lasaraleen supposed her visitor was just going to have to get used to it. We don’t always get what we want.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, darling, come out of the shadows and sit down.” Not an assassin. An assassin would have struck already. An assassin would have known how to get into her chambers without alerting her. An assassin would have taken immediate action upon realizing they had been spotted. “And take off that mask,” she added firmly, gesturing to the genuinely fearsome—affectedly so, if we are being very frank—demon mask her visitor wore over their face. “If any of my household guard come in here and still consider themselves loyal, they’ll kill you for some kind of spirit.”

“It’s meant to be intimidating!” And that faintly exasperated tone sapped any intimidation the mask might have carried far, far away.

“Yes, darling, it’s terribly intimidating. It’s also very conspicuous, and superstitious people are sometimes a little too quick with their swords.” She took a step forward, towards the shadow, towards her visitor. Held out a hand, and couldn’t quite keep the pleading note out of her voice, dull and tired, but still there: “I want to see you. Please.”

There came a moment’s indecision, before the black-clad chest heaved in a sigh, and gloved hands lifted to remove the mask, and put it in Lasaraleen’s hands. It was cold and hard, with a texture that made Lasaraleen think it might have been made of bone. It was faintly porous, but otherwise frustratingly smooth under her hands.

Aravis looked… She didn’t know why she hadn’t expected Aravis to look older. It had been five years; her friend was twenty-one now, a grown woman where before she had been a girl. And she did look different now. Lasaraleen drank in the sight of her greedily, the close-fitting bodysuit suggesting muscles just as lean and strong as they had ever been, in all the time Lasaraleen knew her, the skin painted a rich, reddish umber by the sun, the oval-shaped face that had developed the firm, well-defined shape of adulthood, the bright brown eyes that were so alert, so sharp. She’d never managed to hide that sharpness, not even when it would have served her better to do as Lasaraleen did and present a face to the world at least somewhat at odds with the true, but Aravis wasn’t made for hiding, and Lasaraleen wouldn’t have wished her the aptitude. She wasn’t made for hiding herself behind masks, of any kind.

The urge to throw the demon mask away like the trash it was was almost overwhelming. But Aravis had nothing else with which to cover her face, nothing among Lasaraleen’s collection of veils and scarves that would not have clashed horribly with that black bodysuit and made it clear to onlookers that something was wrong.

And this was not a simple social call.

“Drink your ayran, Aravis,” Lasaraleen said absently, as she crossed the room to firmly shut the shutters of the window Aravis had come in through. No sense of leaving that avenue open to anyone _else_ who might decide to come calling uninvited. Her hands lingered over the metal latch, and she found herself almost transfixed by how cold it was. The night was warm, sultry even. And yet the latch was like ice on her skin. These were the little things she noticed, when the walls were at last closing in on her.

When she turned again, Lasaraleen turned to see Aravis standing awkwardly by the table on which the pitcher and the two cups were sitting. She hadn’t touched the cup Lasaraleen had set aside for her, though Lasaraleen remembered her having some fondness for the drink when they had stayed in the same houses together as girls. She had come of age in the wild north. Maybe she’d picked up a tasted for the coarser drinks of the north, and forgotten her taste for the foods and drinks she had loved in childhood years. Maybe she was just nervous. That was perfectly fair. If Lasaraleen allowed herself to feel it at all, she suspected nervousness would have drowned her long ago.

( _Maybe that was how they would find her—drowned. In her bath, maybe? Certainly, there was more than enough water there to do the job._ )

“So.” Aravis’s voice was brittle, her eyes like a frightened horse’s—a touch wild, and set to trample things if allowed out of her stable stall.

Lasaraleen all but collapsed on her divan, proper posture forgotten—not that she’d ever given much care for that in private. Oh, the walls were closing in. An agent of the Intelligence Ministry, once exposed, would inevitably feel that way, for their days were numbered. Her days were numbered, and surely she could be allowed not to care about proper posture anymore. She still paid attention to her dress and hygiene—Aravis would think it horribly vain, but Lasaraleen at least wanted to leave behind a pleasant-looking corpse, provided she died in such a way as to leave the corpse intact—so surely she could leave aside posture without attracting too much criticism. “So,” she echoed tiredly.

Aravis came and sat down beside her on the divan. Though Aravis had never cared about posture when she was alone with people she had no reason to try to impress, her posture still managed to be better than Lasaraleen’s now, straighter, more erect. They both had their strengths, of course, and some of their strengths were _very_ different from one another, but when it came to matters of life and death, Aravis was made of sterner stuff than was Lasaraleen. Lasaraleen was honest enough with herself to recognize that.

“I… I am glad you’re here, Aravis.” Lasaraleen managed a smile. Being a good hostess was important. “Even if it is only to say goodbye. I can only imagine the trouble you had to go through to get here without being detained. It was horribly dangerous and you shouldn’t have done it, but I am grateful.”

For the first time, there came into Aravis’s face an emotion that wasn’t that faintly wild, harshly-restrained anxiety. Her eyes flashed and she snapped, “Don’t say that. Of course I came. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, dear, I could list any number of reasons why you shouldn’t have come, but if you feel it to be only your duty, then I won’t bother.” Lasaraleen laughed, and the sound was hollow, like the clanging of a bell with a cracked waist. She fiddled with her beaded sash, running her fingertips roughly up and down the beads; the almost painful texture of the beads digging into her skin was soothing, somehow. “It would be nothing but a pointless waste of time.”

Aravis raised an eyebrow. “As opposed to wastes of time that have a point?” she asked dryly. The only light in the room came from a small oil lamp, and she kept melting in and out of the shadows. Her half-smirk was painted black.

Lasaraleen shook her head and pressed a hand to Aravis’s forearm. The flesh was firm and warm under its covering of black cotton. “Oh, Aravis, I was never able to make you understand that, was I? A waste of time can serve so many purposes, if you know how to harness it properly.”

“I suppose,” and even that was a victory, for five years ago, Lasaraleen doubted she would ever have managed to get Aravis to admit that some wastes of time were useful. Maybe she’d learned some new lessons living in a royal court. A royal court of the barbarian north was, after all, still a royal court. “But that’s not why I’m here, Las,” Aravis said, more gently than Lasaraleen thought she’d ever heard her speak. Aravis reached for Lasaraleen’s hand in the gloom and gave it a tight squeeze. “What happened? How were you exposed?"

Lasaraleen sighed heavily, and it felt like every last bit of energy in her body escaped with that breath. “I don’t really know. I do try not to antagonize my colleagues, those of them I ever work with; that’s not a good idea in this line of work, really. It might have been one of them. It might have been one of the minister’s enemies. It might have been one of _my_ enemies—I do have them. Niloufar Tarkheena, perhaps; I did get her cousin arrested on corruption charges, and she’s never forgiven me for it.” Lasaraleen waved her free hand in the air; she had no desire to extricate the other. “It doesn’t matter how it happened, Aravis. All that matters is that it did.”

Aravis ran her thumb over Lasaraleen’s knuckles, stuttering on the ring on her little finger. “Your husband?”

Another hollow laugh. “Has disavowed me.” Aravis’s face twisted in something close to rage, but though Lasaraleen could hardly claim to be happy about that particular part of this situation, she couldn’t summon the same level of emotion. Or so much as pretend to be surprised. “I… can’t really say I’m shocked. I would have liked to believe better of him, but really, having an intelligence agent for a wife is only an asset so long as she goes unexposed. Once exposed, she rapidly becomes a liability, and if one wishes to avoid being dragged down with her, one must rapidly divest… You understand my meaning.”

Aravis made a face as if she very much wished she didn’t. “I…… Yes.” _Ah, darling, you were made for very different battlefields than mine._

“And my parents are no help of course, though I doubt this shocks you. Father in particular was furious to discover his daughter was…” Lasaraleen’s lip curled. “…Well, I’ll spare you the particulars. It _was_ rather obscene. And all my friends claim not to know me, so I am thoroughly alone.” And waiting for the end, though that went unsaid. No use belaboring the point.

“Not completely alone,” Aravis insisted, her mouth pursing in a frown.

Lasaraleen patted her hand. “No, not completely alone. I _am_ grateful for your presence, dear. It’s always nice to have at least one friend around when the end comes knocking.”

“Las—“ Aravis nearly rolled her eyes, but caught herself at the last moment “—Don’t be melodramatic. This isn’t the end.”

At the very least, Lasaraleen knew better than the fall to the divan like some sort of swooning martyr. There was a time and a place, and times when she couldn’t help it, and this was neither. Instead, she quirked an eyebrow, frowning searchingly down into Aravis’s face. “Isn’t it? I know to avoid the more obvious traps, Aravis. I’m not a novice at this, not anymore, and though I have never been personally involved in a poisoning, I know how to spot some of the signs of it. Food tasters help with that, too.” And normally she wouldn’t have been so eager to put her servants or slaves in a position to be killed—they were hand-picked on the basis of many different qualifications, and would be difficult at best to replace—but she really did _not_ want to die because of one of the most basic tricks. “But I can only keep a weathered eye out on so many things at once, and eventually, something is bound to get me. If I removed from the capital, it would do me no good. Besides the fact that my husband and my family have both repudiated me, I would be followed, and, well, I think you’ll find it’s actually somewhat easier to arrange an accident for someone out in the country, depending on the type of accident. It’s only a matter of time.”

She didn’t like it. She wouldn’t pretend to like it. She wouldn’t pretend she had made her peace with it; bitter resignation could hardly be called _peace_. But one did always need to be realistic, lest one’s assumptions run away with reality and lead one into trouble. That was a lesson Lasaraleen had learned the hard way, though the lesson had not been nearly so sharp as this one.

“Las.” There was that gentle voice again; truly, this was a night of wonders. “That isn’t that I meant, not exactly. This is not the end, because you are leaving here with me tonight.”

Lasaraleen let out a barking laugh. “What?”

There was a wrinkling of the nose, and Lasaraleen was transported back to childhood days when Aravis had to be painstakingly coaxed into wearing perfume that she thought entirely too strong. “Don’t laugh at me, Lasaraleen. This isn’t a laughing matter. We are leaving Tashbaan, we are leaving together, and we are leaving tonight.”

Well, it was at least worth hearing her out. Lasaraleen felt something warm kindling in her chest as she inclined her head and said, “You have a plan.”

And Aravis told her. It wasn’t much of a plan, but Lasaraleen was not in quite the same situation as Aravis had been when _she_ had needed to sneak out of Tashbaan. Though there was some risk to being spotted abroad, it would not be as immediately fatal for Lasaraleen as it would have been for Aravis five years ago (As it would be for her even now, for Aravis Tarkheena was not the most popular of women in Calormen. She was not even the most popular of women in this house). Up to a point, it would be alright for Lasaraleen to be seen.

Aravis told her the plan, and there was silence for a moment as Lasaraleen contemplated it. And she was considering it, really considering it, because bitter resignation was not peace and Lasaraleen did not really want to die. But you have to consider all the options, because there are some paths to life that feel like death, and are not truly better than dying.

Lasaraleen sighed, and told herself to drink deeply of the air of Tashbaan, for she would not have opportunities to breathe of the air of Tashbaan, this jewel of cities, for much longer. “It’s… Well, it is rather risky, isn’t it, Aravis?”

“Of course it’s risky,” Aravis retorted, a scolding note replacing the gentleness in her voice with roughness. “I’ve never heard of an escape plan that wasn’t risky. But it will work if we both keep our heads, and you _are_ leaving with me. I won’t take no for an answer; I’m not just going to leave you here to be—“ her mouth contorted in a scowl “—poisoned or drowned or dismembered or whatever else your enemies plan to do to you. I’ll take you out of Tashbaan if I have to knock you over the head and carry you.”

Something about that description made Lasaraleen burst out in a bout of shrill, hysterical laughter. “Like a brigand dragging a lady off to ravish her! And you said you never read any of my books.” The books she’d had to hide far away from her parents’ prying eyes, because her father’s reaction would certainly have been unpleasant enough to destroy any pleasure she derived from reading them. It had been worth learning to read the foreign languages she’d had to learn to truly understand the content and not simply have to rely on the illustrations. It would not have been worth being struck or beaten.

Aravis’s face darkened briefly, though that may have been a trick of the dim, flickering light. “Yes, well,” she muttered, “you kept talking about them, and kept leaving them where I could find them. But that’s not the point, and we need to leave here, sooner rather than later. Come on, Las. You must have _some_ plain clothes you can change into, something that won’t immediately draw everyone’s eyes to you as you walk.”

Lasaraleen spared a longing glance at the rich dress she wore, but one look at Aravis’s face, serious and set, silenced any protest that might have escaped her mouth. “Oh, very well,” she grumbled. There would be other dresses, though if the rumors of northern fashions were true, they weren’t going to be terribly comfortable dresses. “And what—“ she crossed the room to her wardrobe, began rummaging through it for the plain gray dress she wore to her mother-in-law’s wake “—am I to do in the Anvard royal court?”

“Become King Lune’s spymaster?”

A laugh. “Oh, darling. A spymaster must be more inconspicuous than all that.” Not without a certain pride, “I will never be inconspicuous anywhere I go.”

Aravis fairly choked. “Isn’t that the truth.”

“I could be a spy, perhaps, once I was better-established. But that all depends on you, Aravis, and whether or not this plan will work.”

She turned to see Aravis nodding resolutely, and pulling a dagger from a fold in her dark clothes, which she turned over and over in her hands, as if she expected an attack at any moment. Lasaraleen was less concerned, but then, she knew more of assassins than did her friend. “It will work.” She half-grimaced, half-smiled, which made an interesting picture of her face. “As they put it up north, I have somehow become your knight in shining armor.”

Lasaraleen had never heard that one, but she could guess at the context and it made her laugh, her face warming pleasantly. “Well, when we get north, we’ll have to find you armor to match.”


End file.
